PS 

3117 

.fie 

I81T 



and other Poems 



■^ "\\l \ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.. Copyright So. 



Shelf.*..>^3- 



18-r/ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE BUILDERS AND 
OTHER POEMS 



______ 



$<$<$»«?*£THE 
BUILDERS 
AND OTHER 
P0EMS4>BY 
/WWHENRY 
\ANDYKE«» 



Charles Scribne/s Sons 

NewYotk HDCCCXCVH 



\ 



Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons 



^1 



CONTENTS 

SONGS OUT OF DOORS Page 

Wings of a Dove 3 

The Parting and the Coming Guest 4 

An Angler's Wish 6 

The After-Echo io 

Matins n 

The Fall of the Leaves 12 

A Snow-Song 15 

If all the Skies 16 

On the Glacier 17 

Alpine Solitude 18 

Roslin and Hawthornden 19 

FOUR BIRDS AND A FLOWER 

The Song-Sparrow 23 

The Maryland Yellow-Throat 25 

The Whip-poor-will 27 

The Veery 29 

The Lily of Yorrow 31 

LYRICS OF FRIENDSHIP AND FAITH 

Tennyson 35 

A Ballad of Claremont Hill 36 

Four Things 39 

The Rendezvous 40 

Transformation 41 
To My Lady Graygown : with a Handful 

of Verses 42 

" Rappelle-Toi " 43 

" Du bist wie eine Blume " 44 

" Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam " 45 

" In Memoriam " 46 

Inscription for the Window of Katrina's 

Tower at " Yaddo " 47 

v 



Page 
The Prison and the Angel 48 
Santa Christina 49 
Joy and Duty 51 
Love and Light 52 
Peace 53 
Chant of the Northmen at the Thunder- 
Oak 54 
Chant of the Magi at the Fire-Altar 55 
Song of a Pilgrim-Soul 57 
A Babe Among the Stars 58 
To the Child Jesus 59 
The Bargain 60 
The Master's Voice 61 
Bitter Sweet 63 
The Way 64 
The Arrow 65 
The Great River 66 
Mercy for Armenia 67 

THE BUILDERS 

I The Creative Spirit 71 

II The Wind of Death 72 

III The Voice of Life 73 

IV A Master-Builder 74 
V Seas of Darkness 75 

VI The Beacon 77 

VII Storms of Battle 78 

VIII The Fortress 79 

IX Amor Patriae 81 

X The Temple 84 

XI A Solemn Music 85 

XII The Builders' Hymn 86 



VI 



SONGS OUT OF DOORS 



WINGS OF A DOVE 



A T sunset, when the rosy light was dying 

Far down the pathway of the west, 
I saw a lonely dove in silence flying, 
To be at rest. 

Pilgrim of air, I cried, could I but borrow 

Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest, 
I 'd fly away from every careful sorrow, 
And find my rest. 



II 
But when the dusk a filmy veil was weaving, 

Back came the dove to seek her nest 
Deep in the forest where her mate was griev- 
ing,— 

There was true rest. 

Peace, heart of mine ! no longer sigh to wander ; 

Lose not thy life in fruitless quest. 
There are no happy islands over yonder ; 
Come home and rest. 



THE PARTING AND THE COMING GUEST 

"W7HO watched the worn-out Winter die ? 
W Who, peering through the dripping pane 
At nightfall, under sleet and rain, 

Saw the old graybeard totter by ? 

Who listened to his parting sigh, 
The sobbings of his feeble breath, 
His whispered colloquy with Death, 
And when his all of life was done 

Stood near to bid a last good-bye ? 
Of all his former friends not one 

Saw the forsaken Winter die. 



Who welcomed in the maiden Spring ? 
Who heard her footfalls, swift and light 
As fairies stepping through the night ; 

Or guessed what happy dawn would bring 

The first flash of her blue-bird's wing, 
The first sight of her mayflower-face 
To brighten every shady place ? 
One morning, down the village street, 

" Oh, here am I," we heard her sing, — 
And none had been awake to greet 

The coming of the maiden Spring. 



But look, her violet eyes are wet 
With bright, unfallen, dewy tears ; 
And in her song my fancy hears 

A note of sorrow trembling yet. 

Perhaps, outside the town, she met 
Old Winter as he limped away 
To die forlorn, and let him lay 
His weary head upon her knee 

And rest awhile, and felt regret 

For one so gray and friendless, — see, 

Her tender eyes with tears are wet. 

And so, by night, while we were all at rest, 
I think the coming sped the parting guest. 



J 



AN ANGLER'S WISH 



TYTHEN tulips bloom in Union Square, 
And timid breaths of vernal air 
Go wandering down the dusty town, 
Like children lost in Vanity Fair ; 

When every long, unlovely row 
Of westward houses stands aglow, 

And leads the eyes toward sunset skies 
Beyond the hills where green trees grow; 

Then weary seems the street parade, 
And weary books, and weary trade : 
I 'm only wishing to go a-fishing ; 
For this the month of May was made. 



II 

I guess the pussy-willows now 
Are creeping out on every bough 
Along the brook ; and robins look 

For early worms behind the plough. 

The thistle-birds have changed their dun, 
For yellow coats, to match the sun ; 

And in the same array of flame 
The Dandelion Show 's begun. 

The flocks of young anemones 

Are dancing round the budding trees : 

Who can help wishing to go a-fishing 
In days as full of joy as these ? 



Ill 

I think the meadow-lark's clear sound 
Leaks upward slowly from the ground, 
While on the wing, the bluebirds ring 
Their wedding-bells to woods around. 

The flirting chewink calls his dear 
Behind the bush ; and very near, 

Where water flows, where green grass grows, 
Song-sparrows gently sing, " Good cheer." 

And, best of all, through twilight's calm 
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. 

How much I 'm wishing to go a-fishing 
In days so sweet with music's balm ! 



IV 

'T is not a proud desire of mine ; 
I ask for nothing superfine ; 

No heavy weight, no salmon great, 
To break the record, or my line : 

Only an idle little stream, 

Whose amber waters softly gleam, 

Where I maywade, through woodland shade, 
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream : 

Only a trout or two, to dart 

From foaming pools, and try my art : 

No more I 'm wishing — old-fashioned fishing, 
And just a day on Nature's heart. 



THE AFTER-ECHO 

MOW the long echoes die away 
^ Along the shores of silence, as a wave, 
Retreating, circles down the sand ; 
And one by one, with sweet delay, 
The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave, 
Have lingered in the crescent bay, 
Until, by lightest breezes fanned, 
They float far off into the dying day, 
And all is still as death. 

But listen! hark, — 
A slender, wavering breath 
Comes from the border of the dark ; 

A note as clear and slow 
As falls from some enchanted bell, 
Or spirit, passing from the world below, 
That whispers back, Farewell. 

So in the heart, 
When, fading slowly down the past, 
Fond memories depart, 
1 And each that leaves it seems the last ; 
Long after all the rest are flown, 
Comes back a well-remembered tone, — 
/ The after-echo of departed years, 
And touches all the soul to tears. 



10 



MATINS 

pLOWERS, when the night is done, 

Lift their heads to greet the sun ; 
Sweetest looks and odours raise, 
In a silent hymn of praise. 

So my heart would turn away 
From the darkness to the day ; 
Lying open, in God's sight, 
As a flower in the light. 



ii 



THE FALL OF THE LEAVES 

i 
TN warlike pomp, with banners streaming, 

The regiments of autumn stood : 
I saw their gold and scarlet gleaming 
From every hill-side, every wood. 

Beside the sea the clouds were keeping 
Their secret leaguer, gray and still ; 

And soon their misty scouts came creeping, 
With noiseless step, from hill to hill. 

All day their sullen armies drifted 
Athwart the sky with slanting rain ; 

At sunset for a space they lifted, 
With dusk they settled down again. 



12 



II 
At dark the winds began to blow 
With mutterings distant, low ; 

From sea and sky they called their strength, 
Till with an angry, broken roar, 
Like billows on an unseen shore, 
Their fury burst at length. 

I heard through the night 

The rush and the clamor ; 
The pulse of the fight 

Like blows of Trior's hammer ; 
The pattering flight 
Of the leaves, and the anguished 
Moans of the forest vanquished. 

Just at daybreak came a gusty song : 
" Shout ! the winds are strong. 
The little people of the leaves are fled. 
Shout ! The Autumn is dead ! " 



i3 



Ill 
The storm is ended : the impartial sun 
Laughs down upon the victory lost and won. 
In long, triumphant lines the cloudy host 
Roll through the sky, retreating to the coast. 

But we, fond lovers of the forest shade, 
And grateful friends of every fallen leaf, 
Forget the glories of the cloud-parade, 
And walk the ruined woods in quiet grief. 

For so these thoughtful hearts of ours repeat, 
On fields of triumph, dirges of defeat ; 
And still we turn, on gala-days, to tread 
Among the rustling memories of the dead. 



14 



A SNOW-SONG 



D 



OES the snow fall at sea ? 

Yes, when the north winds blow, 
When the wild clouds fly low, 
Out of each gloomy wing, 
Hissing and murmuring, 
Into the stormy sea 

Falleth the snow. 



Does the snow hide the sea ? 
On all its tossing plains 
Never a flake remains ; 
Drift never resteth there ; 
Vanishing everywhere, 
Into the hungry sea 
Falleth the snow. 

What means the snow at sea ? 
Whirled in the veering blast, 
Thickly the flakes drive past ; 
Each like a childish ghost 
Wavers, and then is lost. 
Type of life's mystery, 
In the forgetful sea 
Fadeth the snow. 



15 



J 



IF ALL THE SKIES 

TF all the skies were sunshine, 
Our faces would be fain 

To feel once more upon them 
The cooling plash of rain. 

If all the world were music, 

Our hearts would often long 
For one sweet strain of silence, 
• To break the endless song. 

If life were always merry, 
Our souls would seek relief, 

And rest from weary laughter 
In the quiet arms of grief. 



16 



ON THE GLACIER 

HPHE dawn in silence reigns supreme : 
No sound the frozen stillness breaks, 
Save when the avalanche awakes 

The echoes, dull as in a dream : 

Their hollow thunders, dying, seem 
To leave the air so still it aches. 

At noon, unnumbered rivulets spring 
To life; and down the crystal walls 
Each brook makes music as it falls, 

Till all the blue crevasses ring. 

So in the poet's heart the glow 

Of love unbinds the streams that sleep 
A thousand rills of feeling leap 

To freedom, singing as they flow. 



17 



ALPINE SOLITUDE 

TY7HITE death bespread the solemn plain, 

And crowned the circling peaks with dread ; 
The sun was glaring overhead, 

So fierce, the sky was full of pain. 

And while I longed and looked in vain 
For any trace of life, I said, 
" No foot but mine has dared to tread 

This solitude — none shall again." 

But as I spoke, before my feet 

I saw a track across the snow, — 
Some wandering chamois, hours ago, 

Had passed here on his journey fleet, — 

A message from a friend unknown, 

It left my heart no more alone. 



18 



ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN 

"CAIR Roslin Chapel, how divine 

The art that reared thy costly shrine ! 
Thy carven columns must have grown 
By magic, like a dream in stone. 

Yet not within thy storied wall 
Would I in adoration fall, 
So gladly as within the glen 
That leads to lovely Hawthornden. 

A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green 
And vine-clad pillars, while between, 
The Esk runs murmuring on its way, 
In living music, night and day. 

Within the temple of this wood 

The martyrs of the covenant stood, 

And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer, 

Ffom Nature's solemn altar-stair. 



19 



FOUR BIRDS 
AND A FLOWER 



THE SONG-SPARROW 

HTHERE is a bird I know so well, 
It seems as if he must have sung 

Beside my crib when I was young ; 
Before I knew the way to spell 

The name of even the smallest bird, 

His gentle-joyful song I heard. 
Now see if you can tell, my dear, 
What bird it is that, every year, 
Sings "Sweet — sweet — sweet—very merry cheer." 

He comes in March, when winds are strong, 

And snow returns to hide the earth ; 

But still he warms his heart with mirth, 
And waits for May. He lingers long 

While flowers fade ; and every day 

Repeats his small, contented lay ; 
As if to say, we need not fear 
The season's change, if love is here 
With " Sweet— sweet— sweet— very merry cheer/'' 

He does not wear a Joseph's-coat 

Of many colours, smart and gay ; 

His suit is Quaker brown and gray, 
With darker patches at his throat. 

And yet of all the well-dressed throng 

Not one can sing so brave a song. 
It makes the pride of looks appear 
A vain and foolish thing, to hear 
H is ' * Sweet— sweet — sweet— very merry cheer* ' ' 



23 



A lofty place he does not love, 

But sits by choice, and well at ease, 
In hedges, and in little trees 
That stretch their slender arms above 
The meadow-brook ; and there he sings 
Till all the field with pleasure rings; 
And so he tells in every ear, 
That lowly homes to heaven are near 
In ' 'Sweet — sweet — sweet — <v ery merry cheer* ' ' 

I like the tune, I like the words ; 

They seem so true, so free from art, 

So friendly, and so full of heart, 
That if but one of all the birds 

Could be my comrade everywhere, 

My little brother of the air, 
This is the one I 'd choose, my dear, 
Because he 'd bless me, every year, 
W i th ' 'Sweet — sweet — sweet — very merry cheer* ' ' 



24 



THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT 

"VY7HILE May bedecks the naked trees 
™ With tassels and embroideries, 
And many blue-eyed violets beam 
Along the edges of the stream, 
I hear a voice that seems to say, 
Now near at hand, now far away, 
' ' Witchery — witchery — witchery. ' ' 

An incantation so serene, 
So innocent, befits the scene : 
There's magic in that small bird's note — 
See, there he flits — the Yellow-throat; 
A living sunbeam, tipped with wings, 
A spark of light that shines and sings 
' ' Witchery — witchery — witchery. ' ' 

You prophet with a pleasant name, 
If out of Mary-land you came, 
You know the way that thither goes 
Where Mary's lovely garden grows : 
Fly swiftly back to her, I pray, 
And try, to call her down this way, 
* ' Witchery — witchery — witchery I ' ' 

Tell her to leave her cockle-shells, 
And all her little silver bells 
That blossom into melody, 
And all her maids less fair than she. 
She does not need these pretty things, 
For everywhere she comes, she brings 
4 4 Witchery — witchery — witchery I" 



25 



The -woods are greening overhead, 
And flowers adorn each mossy bed ; 
The waters babble as they run — 
One thing is lacking, only one : 
If Mary were but here to-day, 
I would believe your charming lay, 
44 Witchery — 'witchery— witchery I " 

Along the shady road I look — 
Who 's coming now across the brook ? 
A woodland maid, all robed in white — 
The leaves dance round her with delight, 
The stream laughs out beneath her feet — 
Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, 
' * Witchery — witchery — witchery I ' ' 



26 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 

T)0 you remember, father, — 

■^ It seems so long ago, — 

The day we fished together 
Along the Pocono ? 

At dusk I waited for you, 
Beside the lumber-mill, 

And there I heard a hidden bird 
That chanted, "whip-poor-will," 
' ' Whippoorwill I 'whippoorwill l ,f 
Sad and shrill, — " ^whippoorwill ' I '' " 

The place was all deserted ; 
The mill-wheel hung at rest ; 

The lonely star of evening 
Was quivering in the west ; 

The veil of night was falling ; 
The winds were folded still ; 

And everywhere the trembling air 
Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!" 
* * Whippoorwill I whippoorwill I" 
Sad and shrill, — * " whippoorwill! " 

You seemed so long in coming, 

I felt so much alone ; 
The wide, dark world was round me, 

And life was all unknown ; 
The hand of sorrow touched me, 

And made my senses thrill 
With all the pain that haunts the strain 

Of mournful whip-poor-will. 

44 Whippoorwill I whippoorwill I '' " 

Sad and shrill, — " 'whippoorwill I " 



27 



What did I know of trouble ? 
An idle little lad ; 

I had not learned the lessons 
That make men wise and sad. 

I dreamed of grief and parting, 
And something seemed to fill 

My heart with tears, while in my ears 
Resounded "whip-poor-will." 
4 4 Whippoorwitt I c wKippoorwill I" 
Sad and shrill, — " wbippoorvvitt! " 

'Twas but a shadowy sadness, 

That lightly passed away ; 
But I have known the substance 

Of sorrow, since that day. 
For nevermore at twilight, 

Beside the silent mill, 
I '11 wait for you, in the falling dew, 

And hear the whip-poor-will. 

4 4 Whippoorwill I ^whippoorwill I" 

Sad and shrill, — " <whippoorw)itt! ** 

But if you still remember, 

In that fair land of light, 
The pains and fears that touch us 

Along this edge of night, 
I think all earthly grieving, 

And all our mortal ill, 
To you must seem like a boy's sad dream, 

Who hears the whip-poor-will. 

' ' Wbippoorwitt I c wh(ppoor c ivitl I '* 

A passing thrill, — " <v)hippoorwitt I " 



28 



THE VEERY 

HpHE moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver 
■■■ flood were pouring, 

When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost 
love deploring. 

So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange 
and eerie ; 

I longed to hear a simpler strain, — the "wood- 
notes of the veery. 

The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scot- 
tish heather ; 

It sprinkles down from far away like light and 
love together ; 

He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding 
mate, his dearie ; 

I only know one song more sweet, — the vespers 
of the veery. 

In English gardens, green and bright and full of 

fruity treasure, 
I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his 

merry measure : 
The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was 

loud and cheery, 
And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for 

the veery. 



29 



But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush 

is singing ; 
New England woods, at close of day, with that 

clear chant are ringing : 
And when my light of life is low, and heart and 

flesh are weary, 
I fain would hear, before I go, the wood notes 

of the veery. 



30 



THE LILY OF YORROW 

"T\EEP in the heart of the forest the lily of 

Yorrow is growing ; 
Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical 

odour o'erflowing ; 
Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades 

when the south wind is blowing. 

Sweet are the primroses pale and the violets 
after a shower ; 

Sweet are the borders of pinks and the blossom- 
ing grapes on the bower ; 

Sweeter by far is the breath of that far-away 
woodland flower. 

Searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals 
like a perfume enchanted 

Under the arch of the forest, and all who per- 
ceive it are haunted, 

Seeking and seeking forever, till sight of the 
lily is granted. 

Who can describe how it grows, with its chalice 

of lazuli leaning 
Over a crystalline spring, where the ferns and 

the mosses are greening ? 
Who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth 

of its meaning ? 



3i 



Calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the 

mountains olden, 
Joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of 

sunsets golden, 
Secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the 

flower are holden. 

Surely to see it is peace and the crown of a life- 
long endeavour ; 

Surely to pluck it is gladness, — but they who 
have found it can never 

Tell of the gladness and peace : they are hid 
from our vision forever. 

'T was but a moment ago that a comrade was 

wandering near me : 
Turning aside from the pathway he murmured 

a greeting to cheer me, — 
Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but 

he did not hear me. 

Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail 

him with passionate sorrow ? 
Surely I know there is gladness in finding the 

lily of Yorrow : 
He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall 

find it to-morrow. 



32 



LYRICS 

OF 

FRIENDSHIP AND FAITH 



TENNYSON 

In lucem transitus 
October, J892 

CROM the misty shores of midnight, touched 

with splendours of the moon, 
To the singing tides of heaven, and the light 

more clear than noon, 
Passed a soul that grew to music till it was 

with God in tune. 

Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, 

true to art ; 
Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human 

heart ; 
Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall 

sing, if thou depart ? 

Silence here — for love is silent, gazing on the 

lessening sail ; 
Silence here — for grief is voiceless when the 

mighty minstrels fail ; 
Silence here — but far beyond us, many voices 

crying, Hail ! 



35 



A BALLAD OF CLAREMONT HILL 

'TpHE roar of the city is low, 
Muffled by new-fallen snow, 
And the sign of the wintry moon is small and 
round and still. 
"Will you come with me to-night, 
To see a pleasant sight 
Away on the river-side, at the edge of Clare- 
mont Hill? 

"And what shall we see there, 
But streets that are new and bare, 
And many a desolate place that the city is com- 
ing to fill ; 
And a soldier's tomb of stone, 
And a few trees standing alone — 
Will you walk for that through the cold, to the 
edge of Claremont Hill?" 

But there 's more than that for me, 
In the place that I fain would see : 
There's a glimpse of the grace that helps us all 
to bear life's ill; 
A touch of the vital breath 
That keeps the world from death ; 
A flower that never fades, on the edge of Clare- 
mont Hill. 



36 



For just where the road swings round, 
In a narrow strip of ground, 
Where a group of forest trees are lingering 
fondly still, 
There 's a grave of the olden time, 
When the garden bloomed in its prime, 
And the children laughed and sang on the edge 
of Claremont Hill. 

The marble is pure and white, 
And even in this dim light, 
You may read the simple words that are writ- 
ten there if you will ; 
You may hear a father tell 
Of the child he loved so well, 
A hundred years ago, on the edge of Claremont 
Hill. 

The tide of the city has rolled 
Across that bower of old, 
And blotted out the beds of the rose and the 
daffodil ; 
But the little playmate sleeps, 
And the shrine of love still keeps 
A record of happy days, on the edge of Clare- 
mont Hill. 



37 



The river is pouring down 
To the crowded, careless town, 
Where the intricate wheels of trade are grind- 
ing on like a mill ; 
But the clamorous noise and strife 
Of the hurrying waves of life 
Flow soft by this haven of peace on the edge 
of Claremont Hill. 

And after all, my friend, 
When the tale of our years shall end, 
Be it long or short, or lowly or great, as God 
may will, 
What better praise could we hear, 
Than this of the child so dear : 
You have made my life more sweet, on the 
edge of Claremont Hill? 



38 



FOUR THINGS 

COUR things a man must learn to do 
If he would make his record true : 
To think without confusion clearly ; 
To love his fellow-men sincerely ; 
To act from honest motives purely ; 
To trust in God and Heaven securely. 



39 



THE RENDEZVOUS 

[ COUNT that friendship little worth 
"Which has not many things untold, 
Great longings that no words can hold, 

And passion-secrets waiting birth. 

Along the slender wires of speech 
Some message from the heart is sent ; 
But who can tell the whole that's meant ? 

Our dearest thoughts are out of reach. 

I have not seen thee, though mine eyes 
Hold now the image of thy face ; 
In vain, through form, I strive to trace 

The soul I love : that deeper lies. 

A thousand accidents control 

Our meeting here. Clasp hand in hand, 
And swear to meet me in that land 

Where friends hold converse soul to soul. 



40 






TRANSFORMATION 

ANLY a little shrivelled seed, 

^^ It might be flower, or grass, or weed ; 

Only a box of earth on the edge 

Of a narrow, dusty window-ledge ; 

Only a few scant summer showers ; 

Only a few clear shining hours ; 

That was all. Yet God could make 

Out of these, for a sick child's sake, 

A blossom-wonder, as fair and sweet 

As ever broke at an angel's feet. 

Only a life of barren pain, 
Wet with sorrowful tears for rain, 
"Warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam 
Of joy, that seemed but a happy dream; 
A life as common and brown and bare 
As the box of earth in the window there ; 
Yet it bore, at last, the precious bloom 
Of a perfect soul in that narrow room ; 
Pure as the snowy leaves that fold 
Over the flower's heart of gold. 

(1875) 



4i 



TO MY LADY GRAYGOWN: 
WITH A HANDFUL OF VERSES 

"VY7AYSIDE songs and meadow blossoms; 

nothing perfect, nothing raTe ; 
Every poet's ordered garden yields a hundred 

flowers more fair ; 
Master-singers know a music richer far beyond 

compare. 

Yet the reaper in the harvest, 'mid the burden 

and the heat, 
Hums a half-remembered ballad, finds the easy 

cadence sweet, — 
Sees the very blue of heaven in the corn-bloom 

at his feet. 

For the Over-Lord is generous, no straight walls 
His love confine ; 

Unto few, for world-wide glory, comes the sym- 
phony divine ; 

Unto all, for simple pleasure, come the thoughts 
that sing and shine. 

So to you, dear heart, I bring them : you, among 

the busy throng, 
Walk beside me, help me, cheer me, keep the 

days from seeming long : 
All the blossoms, all the ballads, touched by 

you, to you belong — 
You, my flower ; you, my song! 



42 



"RAPPELLE-TOI" 

HEMEMBER, when the timid light 

■^ Through the enchanted halls of dawn is 

streaming ; 
Remember, when the pensive night 

Beneath her silvery veil walks dreaming ; 
When pleasure calls thee and thy heart 

beats high, 
When tender joys through evening shades 
draw nigh, 
Hark, from the woodland deeps 
A gentle whisper creeps, 
Remember ! 

Remember, when the hand of fate 

My life from thine forevermore has parted ; 
When sorrow, exile, and the weight 
Of lonely years have made me heavy-hearted ; 
Think of my loyal love, my last adieu ; 
Absence and time are naught, if we are true ; 
Long as my heart shall beat, 
To thine it will repeat, 
Remember ! 

Remember, when the cool, dark tomb 

Receives my heart into its quiet keeping, 
And some sweet flower begins to bloom 
Above the place where I am sleeping ; 

Ah then, my face thou nevermore shalt see, 
But still my soul will linger close to thee, 
And in the holy place of night, 
The litany of love recite, — 
Remember ! 

From the French. 

43 



"DU BIST WE EINE BLUME" 

"PAIR art thou as a flower 
And innocent and shy : 
I look on thee and sorrow; 
I grieve, I know not why. 

I long to lay, in blessing, 
My hand upon thy brow, 

And pray that God may keep thee 
As fair and pure as now. 

From the German of Heinrich Heine. 



44 



"EIN FICHTENBAUM STEHT EINSAM 

A FIR-TREE standeth lonely 
■^ On an icy northern height, 
Asleep, while snow-storms cover 
His rest with robes of white. 

Dreaming, he sees a palm-tree 
In the distant morning-land ; 
She stands alone and silent 
In the burning waste of sand. 

From the German of Heinrich Heine. 



45 



"IN MEMORIAM" 

HTHE record of a faith sublime, 

And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned ; 
The incense of a love that burned 
Through pain and doubt defying Time : 

A light that gleamed across the wave 
Of darkness, down the rolling years, 
Piercing the heavy mist of tears — 

A rainbow shining o'er the grave : 

The story of a soul at strife 

That learned at last to kiss the rod, 
And passed through sorrow up to God, 

From living to a higher life. 



4 6 



INSCRIPTION FOR THE WINDOW 
OF KATRINA'S TOWER 
AT "YADDO" 

HTHIS is the window's message, 

In silence, to the Queen : 
" Thou hast a double kingdom 

And I am set between : 
Look out and see the glory, 

On hill and plain and sky : 
Look in and see the light of love 

That nevermore shall die! " 

L'ENVOI 

Window in the Queen* s high tower, 
This shall he thy magic power! 
Shut the darkness and the douht, 
Shut the storm and conflict, out; 
Wind and hail and snow and rain 
Dash against thee all in <vain. 
Let in nothing from the night, — 
Let in every ray of light 



47 



THE PRISON AND THE ANGEL 

CELF is the only prison that can ever bind 

^ the soul; 

Love is the only angel who can bid the gates 
unroll ; 

And when he comes to call thee, arise and fol- 
low fast ; 

His way may lie through darkness, but it leads 
to light at last. 



48 



SANTA CHRISTINA 

CAINTS are God's flowers, fragrant souls 
That His own hand hath planted, 

Not in some far-off heavenly place, 
Or solitude enchanted, 

But here and there and everywhere, — 
In lonely field, or crowded town, 
God sees a flower when He looks down. 

Some wear the lily's stainless white, 

And some the rose of passion, 
And some the violet's heavenly blue, 

But each in its own fashion, 
With silent bloom and soft perfume, 

Is praising Him who from above 

Beholds each lifted face of love. 

One such I knew, — and had the grace 

To thank my God for knowing : 
The beauty of her quiet life 

Was like a rose in blowing, — 
So fair and sweet, so all-complete, 

And all unconscious as a flower, 

That light and fragrance were her dower. 

No convent-garden held this rose, 

Concealed like secret treasure ; 
No royal terrace guarded her 

For some sole monarch's pleasure. 
She made her shrine, this saint of mine, 

In a bright home where children played ; 

And there she wrought and there she prayed. 



49 



In sunshine, when the days were glad, 

She had the art of keeping 
The clearest rays, to give again 

In days of rain and weeping ; 
Her blessed heart could still impart 

Some portion of its secret grace, 

And charity shone in her face. 

In joy she grew from year to year ; 

And sorrow made her sweeter ; 
And every comfort, still more kind ; 

And every loss, completer. 
The children came to love her name, — 

" Christina," — 't was a lip's caress ; 

And when they called, they seemed to bless. 

No more they call, for she is gone. 

The wind passed o'er the flower ; 
The place that knew and loved her well 

No more, no more shall know her ; 
They cannot reach her with love's speech, 

And when they say " Christina " now 

'T is like a prayer or like a vow : 

A vow to keep her life alive 

In deeds of pure affection, 
So that her love shall find through them 

A daily resurrection ; 
A constant prayer that they may wear 

Some touch of that supernal light 

With which she blossoms in God's sight. 



5o 



JOY AND DUTY 

"TOY is a Duty," — so with golden lore 
) The Hebrew rabbis taught in days of yore, 
And happy human hearts heard in their speech 
Almost the highest wisdom man can reach. 

But one bright peak still rises far above, 

And there the Master stands whose name is 

Love, 
Saying to those whom weary tasks employ : 
" Life is divine when Duty is a Joy." 



5i 






J 



LOVE AND LIGHT 

HpHERE are many kinds of love, as many 

kinds of light, 
And every kind of love makes a glory in the 

night. 
There is love that stirs the heart, and love that 

gives it rest, 
But the love that leads life upward is the 

noblest and the best. 



52 



PEACE 

"VYTITH eager heart and will on fire, 
I fought to win my great desire 
"Peace shall be mine," I said; but life 
Grew bitter in the weary strife. 

My soul was tired, and my pride 
Was wounded deep : to Heaven I cried, 
" God grant me peace or I must die ; " 
The dumb stars glittered no reply. 

Broken at last, I bowed my head, 
Forgetting all myself, and said, 
" 'Whatever comes, His will be done ; " 
And in that moment peace was won. 



53 



CHANT OF THE NORTHMEN AT THE 
THUNDER-OAK 

r\ THOR, the Thunderer, 

Mighty and merciless, 
Spare us from smiting ! 
Heave not thy hammer, 
Angry, against us ; 
Plague not thy people! 
Take from our treasure 
Richest of ransom. 
Silver we send thee, 
Jewels and javelins, 
Goodliest garments ; 
All our possessions 
Priceless we proffer. 
Sheep will we slaughter, 
Steeds will we sacrifice ; 
Bright blood shall bathe thee, 
O tree of Thunder ! 
Life-floods shall lave thee, 
Strong wood of wonder ! 
Mighty, have mercy, 
Smite us no more, 
Spare us and save us, 
Spare us, Thor! Thor! 

From " The Oak of Geismar." 



54 



CHANT OF THE MAGI AT THE FIRE- 
ALTAR 

"VYTE worship the Spirit Divine, 

All wisdom and goodness possessing ; 
Surrounded by Holy Immortals, 

The givers of bounty and blessing ; 
We joy in the works of his hands, 

His truth and his glory confessing. 

We praise all the things that are pure, 

For these are his only creation ; 
The thoughts that are true, and the words 

And the deeds that have won approbation ; 
These are the effluence of Him, 

And for these we would give adoration. 

Hear us, O Mazda ! Thou livest 
In light and in heavenly gladness ; 

Cleanse us from falsehood, and keep us 
From evil and bondage to badness ; 

Pour out thy light and thy joy 
On our darkness and sadness. 



55 



Shine on our gardens and fields, 

Shine on our working and weaving ; 

Shine on the whole race of man, 
Believing and unbelieving ; 

Shine on us now through the night, 

Shine on us now in thy might, 

The flame of our prayerful love 

And the song of our worship receiving. 

From "The Story of the Other Wise Man." 



56 



SONG OF A PILGRIM-SOUL 

"RTTARCH on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! 
1 March swiftly on. Yet err not from the 

way 
Where all the nobly wise of old have trod — 
The path of faith made by the sons of God. 

Follow the marks that they have set beside 
The narrow, cloud-swept track, to be thy guide : 
Follow, and honour what the past has gained, 
And forward still, that more may be attained. 

Something to learn, and something to forget: 
Hold fast the good, and seek the better yet : 
Press on, and prove the pilgrim-hope of youth, — 
That Creeds are milestones on the road to 
Truth. 



57 



A BABE AMONG THE STARS 

"VT^HEN I beheld the splendour of the night, 

And all the misty myriad of her stars, 
Forever swinging on their paths of light, 

Far out beyond our system's narrow bars, 
I marvelled that the glory of God's birth 
Had fallen only on this little earth. 

Infinite condescension, that could raise 

The least to be most blessed. God can 
bring 
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings 
praise. 
This late-born infant of the sky shall sing 
A music sweeter than her sister spheres ; 
Incarnate love, while heaven in wonder hears. 



58 



- 



TO THE CHILD JESUS 
i 

THE NATIVITY 

r'OULD every time-worn heart but see Thee 

once again, 
A happy human child, among the homes of 

men, 
The age of doubt would pass, — the vision of 

Thy face 
Would silently restore the childhood of the 

race. 

II 

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 

Thou wayfaring Jesus, a pilgrim and stranger, 

Exiled from heaven by love at thy birth, 
Exiled again from thy rest in the manger, 

A fugitive child 'mid the perils of earth, — 
Cheer with thy fellowship all who are weary, 

Wandering far from the land that they love ; 
Guide every heart that is homeless and dreary, 

Safe to its home in thy presence above. 



59 



THE BARGAIN 

"VTfiTHAT shall I give for thee, 

Thou Pearl of greatest price ? 
For all the treasures I possess 
Would not suffice. 

I give my store of gold ; 

It is but earthly dross : 
But thou shalt make me rich, beyond 

All fear of loss. 

Mine honours I resign ; 

They are but small at best : 
Thou like a royal star shalt shine 

Upon my breast. 

My worldly joys I give, 

The flowers with which I played ; 
Thy beauty, far more heavenly fair, 

Shall never fade. 

Dear Lord, is that enough ? 

Nay, not a thousandth part 
Well, then, I have but one thing more 

Take Thou my heart. 



60 



, 



THE MASTER'S VOICE 



"VJT7HEN days are dark and nights are cold, 
And all the world seems going wrong ; 
When fears are fresh, and hopes grow old, 

And die because they 've waited long ; 
When all is sad without, within, 
And I am plagued with doubt and sin, 
Yet have I comfort, and rejoice 
If I can hear the Master's voice. 

Come unto Me, thou child distressed; 
Come, find a refuge on My breast; 
Lay down thy burden, and have rest. 

When clouds are thick, and winds are loud, 

And angry waters rising fast, 
With many leaping waves that crowd 

To overwhelm my boat at last ; 
When all my chance of life seems lost, 
Though far astray and tempest-tossed, 
Yet have I courage, and rejoice 
If I can hear the Master's voice. 

Be not afraid; f tis I that stand, 
In every danger, near at hand* 
The winds are still at My command. 



61 



When earthly voices, once so dear, 
Have died in silence, one by one, 
Till I am left to mourn them here 

With empty heart, and all alone ; 
When sorrow from the gates of death 
Breathes on my cheek her icy breath ; 
Yet have I peace, and can rejoice 
If I but hear the Master's voice. 

A little while; wait patiently* 
A little while, and thou shalt be 
With thy beloved, and with Me* 



62 



BITTER-SWEET 

JUST to give up, and trust 
All to a Fate unknown, 
Plodding along life's road in the dust, 
Bounded by walls of stone ; 
Never to have a heart at peace ; 
Never to see when care will cease ; 
Just to be still when sorrows fall — 
This is the bitterest lesson of all. 

Just to give up, and rest 
All on a Love secure, 
Out of a world that's hard at the best, 
Looking to heaven as sure ; 
Ever to hope, through cloud and fear, 
In darkest night, that the dawn is near ; 
Just to wait at the Master's feet — 
Surely, now, the bitter is sweet. 



63 



THE WAY 

"VYTHO seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, 
May keep the path, but will not reach the 
goal; 
While he who walks in love may wander far, 
But God will bring him where the Blessed are. 



6 4 



THE ARROW 

T IFE is an arrow — therefore you must know 
What mark to aim at, how to use the 
bow — 
Then draw it to the head, and let it go ! 



65 



THE GREAT RIVER 

"In la sua volontade fe nostra pace." 

r\ MIGHTY river! strong, eternal Will, 

^ Wherein the streams of human good and 

ill 
Are onward swept, conflicting, to the sea, 
The world is safe because it floats in Thee. 



66 



MERCY FOR ARMENIA 

i 

THE TURK'S WAY 

CTAND back, ye messengers of mercy ! Stand 
^ Far off, for I will save my troubled folk 

In my own way. So the false Sultan spoke ; 
And Europe, hearkening to his base command, 
Stood still to see him heal his wounded land. 

Through blinding snows of winter and through 
smoke 

Of burning towns, she saw him deal the stroke 
Of cruel mercy that his hate had planned. 
Unto the prisoners and the sick he gave 

New tortures, horrible, without a name ; 
Unto the thirsty, blood to drink ; a sword 

Unto the hungry ; with a robe of shame 
He clad the naked, making life abhorred. 
He saved by slaughter, and denied a grave. 



6 7 



II 

AMERICA'S WAY 

But thou, my country, though no fault be thine 
For that red horror far across the sea ; 
Though not a tortured wretch can point to 
thee, 
And curse thee for the selfishness supine 
Of those great Powers that cowardly combine 
To shield the Turk in his iniquity ; 
Yet, since thy hand is innocent and free, 
Rise, thou, and show the world the way divine ! 
Thou canst not break the oppressor's iron rod, 
But thou canst minister to the oppressed ; 
Thou canst not loose the captive's heavy 

chain, 
But thou canst bind his wounds and soothe 
his pain. 
Armenia calls thee, Empire of the West, 
To play the Good Samaritan for God. 



68 



THE BUILDERS 



AN ACADEMIC ODE 

RECITED AT THE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH 

ANNIVERSARY OF PRINCETON COLLEGE 

OCTOBER 21, 1896 



+- 



THE BUILDERS 



TNTO the dust of the making of man 

■*■ Spirit was breathed when his life began, 

Lifting him up from his low estate, 

With masterful passion, the wish to create. 

Out of the dust of his making, man 

Fashioned his works as the ages ran ; 

Palace, and fortress, and temple, and tower, 

Filling the world with the proof of his power. 

The clay wherein God made him 

Grew plastic and obeyed him ; 

The trees, high-arching o'er him, 

Fell everywhere before him ; 

The hills, in silence standing, 

Gave up, at his commanding, 

Their ancient rock-foundations 

To strengthen his creations ; 

And all the metals hidden 

Came forth as they were bidden, 

To help his high endeavour, 

And build a house to last forever. 



7i 



II 

The monuments of mortals 

Are as the flower of the grass ; 
Through Time's dim portals 

A voiceless, viewless wind doth pass ; 
And where it breathes, the brightest blooms 

decay, 
The forests bend to earth more deeply day by 

day, 
And man's great buildings slowly fade away. 
One after one, 
They pay to that dumb breath 
The tribute of their death, 

And are undone. 
The towers incline to dust, 
The massive girders rust, 
The domes dissolve in air, 
The pillars that upbear 
The lofty arches crumble, stone by stone, 
While man the builder looks about him in 

despair, 
For all his works of pride and power are over- 
thrown. 



72 



Ill 

A Voice spake out of the sky : 
" Set thy desires more high. 
Thy buildings fade away 
Because thou buildest clay. 
Now make the fabric sure 
With stones that shall endure. 

Hewn from the spiritual rock, 
The immortal towers of the soul 

At Time's dissolving touch shall mock, 
And stand secure while aeons roll." 



73 



IV 

Well did the wise in heart rejoice 
To hear the secret summons of that Voice, 
And patiently begin 
The builder's work within, — 
Houses not made with hands, 
Nor founded on the sands. 
And thou, Revered Mother, at whose call 
We come to keep thy joyous festival, 
And celebrate, 
With fitting state, 
The glory of thy labours on the walls of Truth 
Through sevenscore years and ten of thine eter- 
nal youth, — 
A master builder thou, 
And on thy shining brow, 
Like Cybele, in fadeless light dost wear 
A diadem of turrets strong and fair. 



74 



I see thee standing in a lonely land, 
But late and hardly won from solitude, 

Unpopulous and rude, — 
On that far western shore I see thee stand, 
Like some young goddess from a brighter strand, 
While in thine eyes a radiant thought is born, 
Enkindling all thy beauty like the morn, 
And guiding to thy work a powerful hand. 
Sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green, 
And few the lights that glimmered, leagues be- 
tween. 
High in the north, for fourscore years alone, 
Fair Harvard's earliest beacon-tower had shone; 
Then Yale was lighted, and an answering ray 
Flashed from the meadows by New Haven Bay. 
But deeper spread the forest, and more dark, 
Where first Neshaminy received the spark 
Of sacred learning to a frail abode, 
And nursed the holy fire until it glowed. 
Thine was the courage, thine the larger look, 
That raised yon taper from its humble nook ; 
Thine was the hope, and thine the stronger will, 
That built the beacon here on Princeton Hill. 
" New light ! " men cried, and murmured that it 

came 
From an unsanctioned source with lawless 

flame ; 
It shone too free, for still the church and school 
Must only shine according to their rule. 



75 



But Princeton answered, in her nobler mood, 
" God made the light, and all the light is good. 
There is no war between the old and new ; 
The conflict lies between the false and true. 
The stars, that high in heaven their courses run, 
In glory differ, but their light is one. 
The beacons, gleaming o'er the sea of life, 
Are rivals but in radiance, not in strife. 
Shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night ! 
I too will build a lasting home for light." 



76 



VI 

Brave was that word of faith and bravely was 

it kept ; 
With never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor 

slept, 
She toiled to raise her tower, and while she 

firmly laid 
The deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she 

prayed. 
And men who loved the truth because it made 

them free, 
And men who saw the twofold Word of God 

agree, 
Reading the book of nature and the sacred page 
By the same inward ray that grows from age to 

age, 
Were built like living stones that beacon to up- 
lift, 
And drawing light from heaven gave to the 

world the gift. 
Nor ever, while they searched the secrets of 

the earth, 
Or traced the stream of life through mystery to 

its birth, 
Nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash 

to bear 
The messages of man in silence through the air, 
Fell from that home of light one false, perfidi- 
ous ray 
To blind the trusting heart, or lead the life 

astray. 
But still, while knowledge grew more luminous 

and broad 
It lit the path of faith and showed the way to 

God. 



77 



VII 

Yet not for peace alone 

Labour the builders. 
Work that in peace has grown 
Swiftly is overthrown, 
When from the darkening skies 
Storm-clouds of wrath arise, 
And through the cannons' crash, 
War's deadly lightning-flash 

Smites and bewilders. 
Ramparts of strength must frown 
Round every placid town 

And city splendid ; 
All that our fathers wrought, 
With true prophetic thought, 

Must be defended ! 



78 



vin 

But who should raise protecting walls for thee, 
Thou young, defenceless land of liberty ? 
Or who could build the fortress strong enough, 
Or stretch the mighty bulwark long enough 
To hold thy far-extended coast 
Against the overweening host 
That took the open path across the sea, 
And like a tempest poured 
Their desolating horde, 
To quench thy dawning light in gloom of 
tyranny ? 
Yet not unguarded thou wert found 
When on thy shore with sullen sound 
The blaring trumpets of an unjust king 
Proclaimed invasion. From the insulted 

ground, 
In freedom's desperate hour there seemed to 

spring 
Invisible walls for her defence ; 
Not trembling, like those battlements of stone 
That fell in fear when Joshua's horns were 

blown ; 
But standing firmer, growing still more dense, 
'With every new assault of alien insolence, 
While cannon roared and flashed and roared 
again, 
In sovereign pride the living rampart rose, 
To meet the onset of imperious foes 
With a long line of brave, unconquerable men. 
This was thy fortress, well-defended land, 
And on these walls, the patient, building hand 
Of Princeton laboured with the force of ten. 



79 



Her sons were foremost in the furious fight ; 
Her sons were firmest to uphold the right 
In council-chambers of the new-born State, 
And prove that he who would be free must first 
be great 
Of heart, and high in thought, and strong 
In purpose not to do or suffer wrong. 
Such were the men, impregnable to fear, 
Whose souls were framed and fashioned here ; 
And when war shook the land with threatening 

shock, 
The men of Princeton stood like muniments of 
rock. 
Nor has the breath of Time 
Dissolved that proud array 
Of imperturbable strength : 
For though the rocks decay, 
And all the iron bands 
Of earthly strongholds are unloosed at length, 
And buried deep in gray oblivion's sands ; 
The work that heroes' hands 
Wrought in the light of freedom's natal day 
Shall never fade away, 
But lifts itself, sublime, 
Into a lucid sphere, 
For ever still and clear, 
And far above the devastating breath of Time ; 
Preserving in the memory of the fathers' deed, 
A never-failing fortress for their children's 
need. 
There we confirm our hearts to-day ; and there 
we read, 
On many a stone, the signature of fame, 
The builders' mark, our Alma Mater's name. 



80 



IX 

Bear with us then a moment, if we turn 
From all the present splendours of this place — 
The lofty towers that like a dream have grown 
Where once old Nassau Hall stood all alone — 
Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burn 
In filial reverence and pride, to trace 

The glory of our mother's best degree, 

In that " high son of Liberty," 

Who like a granite block, 

Riven from Scotland's rock, 
Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free. 
Born far away beyond the ocean's roar, 
He found his fatherland upon this shore ; 
And every drop of ardent blood that ran 
Through his great heart, was true American. 
He held no weak allegiance to a distant throne, 
But made his new-found country's cause his 
own. 

In peril and distress, 

In toil and weariness, 

When darkness overcast her 

With shadows of disaster, 

And voices of confusion 

Proclaimed her hope delusion, 

Robed in his preacher's gown, 

He dared the danger down ; 
Like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune 
Through freedom's councils rang the voice of 
Witherspoon. 



81 



And thou, my country, write it on thy heart, 
Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part ; 
Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine, 
"Wherever born, is born a son of thine ; 
Foreign in name, but not in soul, they come 
To find in thee their long-desired home ; 
Lovers of liberty and haters of disorder, 
They shall be built in strength along thy border. 
Ah, dream not that thy future foes 
Will all be foreign-born ! 
Turn thy clear look of scorn 
Upon the children who oppose 
Their passions wild and policies of shame 
To wreck the righteous splendour of thy name. 
Untaught and overconfident they rise, 
With folly on their lips and envy in their eyes : 
Strong to destroy, but powerless to create, 
And ignorant of all that made our fathers great, 
Their hands would take away thy golden crown, 
And shake the pillars of thy freedom down 
In Anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate. 
O should that storm descend, 
What fortress shall defend 
The land our fathers wrought for, 
The liberties they fought for ? 
What bulwark shall secure 
Her shrines of law, and keep her founts of jus- 
tice pure ? 
Then, ah then, 
As in the olden days, 
The builders must upraise 
A rampart of indomitable men. 



82 



Once again, 
Dear "Mother, if thy heart and hand be true, 
There will be building work for thee to do ; 

Yea, more than once again, 

Thou shalt win lasting praise, 
And never-dying honour shall be thine, 
For setting many stones in that illustrious line, 
To stand unshaken in the swirling strife, 
And guard their country's honour as her life. 



83 



Softly, my harp, and let me lay the touch 
Of silence on these rudely clanging strings ; 

For he who sings 
Even of noble conflicts overmuch, 
Loses the inward sense of better things ; 

And he who makes a boast 
Of knowledge, darkens that which counts the 

most, — 
The insight of a wise humility 
That reverently adores what none can see. 

The glory of our life below 
Comes not from what we do, or what we know, 
But dwells forevermore in what we are. 
There is an architecture grander far 
Than all the fortresses of war, 
More inextinguishably bright 
Than learning's lonely towers of light. 
Framing its walls of faith and hope and love 
In deathless souls of men, it lifts above 
The frailty of our earthly home 

An everlasting dome ; 
The sanctuary of the human host, 
The living temple of the Holy Ghost. 



84 



XI 

If music led the builders long ago, 

When Arthur planned the halls of Camelot, 
And made the mystic city swiftly grow, 
Like some strange flower in that forsaken 
spot; 
What sweeter music shall we bring, 
To weave a harmony divine 

Of prayer and holy thought 
Into the labours of this loftier shrine, 

This consecrated hill, 
Where through so many a year 

Our Mother's faithful hand hath wrought, 
With toil serene and still, 
And heavenly hope, to rear 
The eternal dwelling of the Only King ? 

Here let no martial trumpets blow, 
Nor instruments of pride proclaim 
The loud exultant notes of fame ! 
But let the chords be clear and low, 
And let the anthem deeper grow, 
And let it move more solemnly and slow, 
Like that which came 
From angels' lips when first they hymned their 
Maker's name ; 
For only such an ode 
Can seal the harmony 
Of that deep masonry 
Wherein the soul of man is framed for God's 
abode. 



85 



XII 

O Thou whose boundless love bestows 
The joy of life, the hope of Heaven ; 

Thou whose unchartered mercy flows 
O'er all the blessings Thou hast given ; 

Thou by whose light alone we see ; 

Thou by whose truth our souls set free 

Are made imperishably strong ; 

Hear Thou the solemn music of our song. 

Grant us the knowledge that we need 
To solve the questions of the mind ; 

Light Thou our candle while we read, 
And keep our hearts from going blind ; 

Enlarge our vision to behold 

The wonders Thou hast wrought of old ; 

Reveal thyself in every law, 

And gild the towers of truth with holy awe. 

Be Thou our strength when war's wild gust 
Rages around us, loud and fierce ; 

Confirm our souls and let our trust 
Be like a wall that none can pierce ; 

Give us the courage that prevails, 

The steady faith that never fails, 

Help us to stand in every fight 

Firm as a fortress to defend the right. 



86 



O God, make of us what Thou wilt ; 

Guide Thou the labour of our hand ; 
Let all our work be surely built 

As Thou, the architect, hast planned ; 
But whatsoe'er thy power shall make 
Of these frail lives, do not forsake 
Thy dwelling. Let thy presence rest 
For ever in the temple of our breast. 



87 



Printed for Charles Scribner's Sons, at the 

University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 

March, 1897 



